


when we two parted

by KingLear



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Based On Poetry, Break Up, English politics, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, Enjolras-centric, I love Lord Byron, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Non-Linear Narrative, a lot of inbetween history is missing, happy endings, so ur gonna hav to make it up tbh, this was supposed to be a drabble but it grew to 10k
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 02:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7462518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingLear/pseuds/KingLear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras doesn't have time to mourn, he's not got any time to feel sad, he's got to keep moving forward, he can't let himself feel sad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when we two parted

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to:  
> My Immortal - Evanescence (ngl even tho this is vvv emo, i feel like it fits grantaire's pov perfectly in enjoltaire)  
> The Light - Sara Bareilles (the song R sings to E)  
> I'm a Ruin - Marina and the Diamonds  
> Bluebird - Sara Bareilles  
> Ashes and Wine - A Fine Frenzy  
> Home - Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeroes  
> She is the Sunlight - Trading Yesterday  
> Sick of Losing Soulmates - Dodie Clark

_When we two parted_

_In silence and tears,_

* * *

"So that's it?" Grantaire croaked, his  _blue blue_ eyes blurring with unshed tears, lip white with the rabbit teeth that clenched tight on the bitten skin. Enjolras felt a cold, calm crash over him, feelings numbing, heart numbing. He blinked and took an unsure breath. The silence lasted for what felt like years, Grantaire's paint-stained clothes and skin and hair that Enjolras had spent hours running his fingers through.

The snow fell slowly around them, some landing softly on Grantaire's soft wild curls and melting. He wanted to reach out and tuck his hair behind his beloved's ear, but knew his touch would be unwelcome. Grantaire's crystal eyes held no accusation, only bitter resignation that gnawed away at Enjolras and he could feel himself suffocate. He wanted to open his mouth and say sorry, apologise,  _I'm sorry, Grantaire, I don't really want this, please forgive me._ Yet his mouth wouldn't yield to his will.

The painter held his gaze, pleading for a response but even with all the words in the world at his hands, Enjolras still wasn't able to string a sentence perfectly enough to explain himself. It had to be done and ... wasn't it pathetic that even with all the power he thought he had of his own future, nothing could really be done about what happened next?

Grantaire clucked his teeth, disgust entering his expression, "I'll get Bossuet to get my things from ou-your flat." He turned to leave, gloved hands stuffed in his ratty coat pocket.

“Grantaire, wait.” Enjolras couldn’t help but call out. The artist took a few more steps before stopping, not turning around. Enjolras traced the slump of his shoulders with his eyes and added, “You don’t have to leave, R. It’s your home too.”

To which Grantaire, his eyes met Enjolras’, red eyes and silent tears tracking down his face, a soft voice, “No, it’s alright. I’ll drop the key in the mail.”

And this time, when Enjolras had regained his lost voice and had called Grantaire back, the painter didn’t stop or turn, walking on as if oblivious to Enjolras’ call. And Enjolras knew that it was then that he’d lost Grantaire, he’d lost him in the white of the snow and the cold and the silence. It didn’t stop his heart from plummeting into the unknown depths of his stomach as he watched the receding figure walk forward without once looking back.

* * *

_Half broken-hearted_

_To sever for years,_

* * *

 

They called him the ice-cold marble statue and Enjolras couldn’t help but be thrown back in the warmer time of a smaller crowd in the Musain where the resident drunk and evangelical crusader ran the show with their ultimate words, piercing through each other’s ideas with bullets and cremating a stronger steadier argument, peppered with ideologies and pure rational thought.

They called him the ice-cold marble statue and Enjolras thought back when blue eyes were intently focused on him, seeing through every cold front that he’d tried to hold up, of coffee mornings and lazy lie-ins and godly sketches and laughter and it was then he realised that he felt cold to the bottom of his soul.

He touched the cold metal on his left ring finger and sighed, the phone rang on in the background and he couldn’t lift his hand to pick it up, immediately knowing that it was Maria and not anyone really important.

He turned away and looked out the window and thought of Grantaire, whose eyes he couldn’t remember the colour.  _Funny how the first thing to be forgotten so easily were the blueness of his eyes._  The first time he’d forgotten the exact shade and colour, it had been a month and two days since they’d broken up and he’d gotten as heavily as drunk as Grantaire would have and attempted to call said person several times whilst crying heavily and looking at pictures of Grantaire on social media, Combeferre and Courfeyrac looking on at the sad, sad display with hushed tones and warm hands. When he’d woken the next morning with a pounding relentless headache, curls touching the toilet seat, he couldn’t help but think that the taste of bile and vomit was of one that he deserved.

It had been years since that time and Enjolras would  _like_ to think that he’d matured since such a time but knew with the way that he was ignoring his wife that that was likely as Jehan having quit word poetry and refusing to wear flower crowns.

He thought about how he'd used the sadness of their end to fuel all his time and energy into the beginning of his campaign. New ends and new beginnings. He had no time to think about his broken heart, with all the meetings and press conferences that had filled his timetable.

Although he still missed Grantaire, he couldn’t really think about that now. He had to think of what mattered now and not then. (He crossed his fingers behind his back as he thought this.)

* * *

_Pale grew thy cheek and cold,_

_Colder thy kiss;_

* * *

 

Grantaire’s kisses had tasted of oiled paint and something sweet that still reminded Enjolras of childhood memories.

Enjolras touched his lips.

* * *

_Truly that hour foretold_

_Sorrow to this._

* * *

_“Don’t regret this, Apollo!” Grantaire grinned, wild curls resembling a halo around his skull, head thrown back in breathless laughter as Enjolras pressed bruising kisses into his outstretched neck._

_“My dear,” Enjolras tipped Grantaire’s head to meet his own eyes and pushed closer, pressing Grantaire’s naked leg down flat with his right hand, “I could never regret you.” Grantaire’s eyes were a stormy sea and showed humourless mirth._

_“I’ll hold you to that, Mon Ange.” Grantaire lifted his head forward to kiss Enjolras’ nose, bursting out in laughter at Enjolras' indignant squawk._

…

…

…

“I could never regret you, Grantaire.” Enjolras muttered underneath his breath, touching the engagement ring and feeling quite sick. His phone was blowing up with messages from his lover and he was trying his best to remain calm and not look at the messages because if he did, he would  _crumble_ and he was no good to anyone, broken. 

“What did you say, dear?”, Maria questioned, popping her head out from the wedding dressing room with her delicate blonde curls that were pinned back in a messy bun.

“Nothing, Maria, you look lovely.” Enjolras placed a fake smile and felt himself crack.

* * *

_The dew of the morning_

_Sunk chill on my brow -_

_It felt like the warning_

* * *

 

Enjolras felt nervous, a restless energy building up from within and he paced back and forth, hands curled around his nest of blond hair. Today was the day of his speech at Musain, his first speech back to where it all started, fifteen years from then on.

The topic that day was of the shootings in Orlando and Enjolras didn’t let the tiredness soak himself because he knew he’d never get anything done then. Instead he decided to fire himself up to honour those that had died, those who’d embraced their sexuality and had been silenced in turn.

He felt guilt churn in his stomach but resolutely decided to ignore it and also the irony of the situation.

There was a knock at the door and Enjolras walked over to open it and Feuilly and Courfeyrac strolled in with big grins, the first that he’d seen of that week. “How’re you doing, Enj? Excited to be back?”  Courfeyrac nudged him, tilting his head curiously.

“Of course, there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing.” Enjolras agreed, his own smile tugging at his lips at his old friend’s antics. “I’ve got everything set up and I’m just waiting for your go to start the speech.”

“Yeah, Ferre is getting back to you about that, we’ve just got to make sure that the security is tight enough for you, MP Julian Enjolras.” Feuilly mock-bowed and Courfeyrac followed suit.

“I can’t believe it’s been eight years since you’ve been back, you’ve had such a long journey, Enj!” Courfeyrac raved, clapping his hands together and blinking quickly. “You’ve grown from the ugly duckling you once politically were!”

“Yeah…” Enjolras agreed, thinking distantly and then added, “How have things been going since I’ve been gone?”

“Well…” Courfeyrac hesitated.

“C squared plus Jehan have finally decided to come out with their ‘secret’ relationship.” Feuilly lopsidedly grinned as Courfeyrac hit him over the head, “I wanted to tell him that, you twat.”

“Really?” To Enjolras, this was no surprise, “Congratulations, guys, I’m really happy for you.”

“Also, in other news, Cosette and Éponine have gotten engaged,” Courfeyrac stroked his imaginary beard.

“Ah yes, imagine how shocked Marius will be.” Feuilly cackled, rubbing his hands together.

Enjolras cleared his throat, “Um… so how’s Grantaire?”

Feuilly’s eyes darkened for a split second before they returned to normal, “Yeah, he’s doing good, he’s just settled over in Nepal and opened a restaurant with Floreal. The locals are both terrified and in love with both of them, you should see the pictures of the scenery they post on Instagram! It’s breathtakingly beautiful.”

 _Nepal?_ Enjolras questioningly mused.

 _Nepal._ He resolved.

* * *

 

_Of what I feel now_

* * *

 

Enjolras felt cold and  _dirty_ on his wedding bed, his bride rolled away from him, sated and fast asleep. He felt like carving out his innards and puking everything up. Everything had felt  _wrong_ and  _disgusting,_ the awkward fumbling, how she looked away blushing when Grantaire would have stared at him with adoration and how they would have actively been melding together to join into one instead of whatever that was. That? That was a farce. 

But he could not blame his bride, it was not her fault that she thought she was getting a Prince Charming, he knew that she would disappointed soon enough when she realised that she had only gotten Enjolras.

God he  _missed_ Grantaire like missing an arm. Why had he decided to do this? Why,  _why,_ why? Was it worth it?

He reached out to unlock his phone to take Courfeyrac's earlier offer but quit at the last second, instead choosing to throw his wedding band underneath one of the tables in the hotel suite.

 _Was it worth it?_ He felt himself choke at self-disgust as the scenes of him breaking the heart of the only one he’d ever wanted care for and hold, the fading light, the unfading break.

_Was it worth it?_

* * *

_Thy vows are all broken,_

_And light is thy fame;_

* * *

 

 His shadow was cast by the light hitting the mirror. Enjolras looked at himself in the mirror, staring at the bags underneath his eyes and thought of the lack of sleep that he'd consecutively been having the past few weeks. It had been a good few months since the breakup, four months, three weeks and two days to be quite exact. Four months, three weeks and two days since he'd last talked to Taire, the painter having broken his phone later that day, from what Combeferre had hesitantly told him.

 _Combeferre..._  Enjolras thought. His oldest and most trusted friend looked at him with what could be described as utmost disappointment and sadness when he'd told him of why he'd done what he'd done.

_"I'm... not proud of you, Enjolras. If you had to do this, which I didn't think that you did, I think you should have done something that didn't involve breaking both your and R's hearts at the same time." Combeferre had iterated, looking back at the angry departed Courfeyrac's back, "You've gotten lost along the lines of what's good and what's right and although that doesn't justify what you did, I will still stand by you."_

He was glad that he at least hadn't lost Combeferre as a friend and maybe even Courfeyrac too, judging by the way the Latino had later sashayed into his shared apartment with Combeferre with red in his eyes, punched him in the arm and screamed quite deafeningly, "You're a goddamned idiot, Enj!" And then promptly walked out of his room without saying anything else.

Enjolras couldn't say the same about the rest of the group and he knew he had it coming. Éponine had stopped talking to him, full stop, she didn't even look his way anymore, it was just like those days before Grantaire and he had gotten together. If they met each other's eyes, she simply scowled at him and looked away immediately as if to stop herself from decking him in the face. 

The first time he saw Joly after the breakup, the good doctor had to restrain his small but heavily muscled girlfriend from coming up to his face and saying things that sober Bossuet would never utter. He'd unflinchingly taken it, of course. It was the only reprieve that he could provide the group and if it got their stress out about Grantaire and provided them some relief, then he would be their punch bag even though everything inside of him was screaming that the break up didn't only affect Grantaire and it had broken something in him too. But he'd said nothing and that only fuelled their spitfire more.

Jehan had simply given him sad cow eyes and placed a flower crown weaved of asphodels and marigolds on to his lacklustre hair before leaving him where he sat. Enjolras had dried the flowers and the crown now had a place in his private journal. Cosette and Marius looked unsure of what do, whether or not to approach him, whether or not to breach the loyalty they obviously held for Grantaire or to break the faith they had for Enjolras. Feuilly had watched her girlfriend leave with an expletive curse and simply offered Enjolras a drink and silence, no explanation needed but no acceptance given either. It was damn bitterest drink that he'd ever drank in this lifetime, though.

Enjolras gulped as the time ticked down, the tweeting of the birds sounded like a death knell for what he knew was to come, what he was dreading to come. He'd invited all of the Les Amis, of course. The invitation extended to Grantaire too but he knew that that was a fat chance of that happening, he hoped that the artist was healthy and safe with people he trusted. Of which, Enjolras could no longer consider himself but details, details.

He looked at his watch and knew that it was time, fixing his bow tie for the umpteenth time, he strode forward, masking his emotion to the highest tower that he could build. He met Courfeyrac passing by and without Enjolras opening his mouth, Courf looked at him and said, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Enjolras sighed.

"I mean- don't sigh at me, Enj." Courfeyrac frowned, "I'm not asking for 'Taire, I'm asking for  _you_ because even though I care about R, I still care about you, you absolute dickhead, so you can stop acting like the world's against you. I just want to know,are you going to be happy in this relationship? Is this something that you fancy up-keeping forty years from now?"

He dropped his eyes, "That's something I'll have to live with, Courf."

"Fine." Courfeyrac's eyes betrayed his words as he folded his arms, "My door's always open if the missus is driving you crazy, Enj."

"Thanks, Courfeyrac." Enjolras lifted his eyes, smiling, nerves dissipating into comfort that Courfeyrac always brought with his blunt honesty.

"Wedding's waiting." Courfeyrac noted, eyes calculating, "I'll walk you down till we get to the doors, but you need to relax in the meantime, mate. You look incredibly constipated and right about to shit yourself, it's your goddamned wedding not your toilet and you can  _really_  save that for later." 

Enjolras choked a chuckle at Courf's crudity and simply nodded his head, walking forward with Courf right behind him. As he reached the door, his footsteps became more unsure but he kept looking back at his second oldest best friend's almost  _bored_ eyes that inched him to the grand old door and Enjolras knew better. Enjolras shared the unparalleled grief with Courfeyrac at what Enjolras was choosing to do. 

"Well, this is where I have to leave you, buckaroo." Courfeyrac patted him in the shoulder, a forced smile lilting his lips. "I have to join the rows like all of the other peasants unfortunately and aren't I favoured by your family to be placed in one of the very last back rows? Goddamn, I love your parents for thinking about my height impairment and seating me where I can't see anything past anyone's necks!" 

"You know as much as I do that this wedding is a farce, Courf, there's nothing to really see, other than a boring rich white couple who don't love each other get married." Enjolras blinked at Courfeyrac.

"But how am I going to execute a perfect gate-crash with these short legs and those long pews?" Courfeyrac pouted. 

"You'd only be gate-crashing if you weren't invited." Enjolras noted.

"Ahhh, ruin all my fun, won't ya." Courfeyrac threw his hands in the air in mock exasperation. They smiled at each other in silence. 

"Hey, Courf?" Enjolras softly spoke.

"Yeah, En-oof!" Courfeyrac clasped the arms that had been thrown around his shoulders. "What's brought this on, eh?"

"Thank you." Enjolras spoke, voice muffled in the curls of Courfeyrac's hair.

"Aww, it's not anything, E." Courfeyrac reached up to pat Enjolras perfectly coiled hair. The arms got tighter around his neck and Courfeyrac puffed out, "Uh, E?"

"What." Enjolras replied, head tucked in Courfeyrac's neck.

"Can't! Breathe!" He rasped, trying to beat away the arms with his small Courf hands. 

"Couldn't beat me away with a stick, Courf." Teased Enjolras.

“Now, now, there’s enough Courfeyrac in the world for everybody, no need to be jealous of anyone, E.” Courfeyrac wheezed but stopped fighting back the hug, for a few minutes.  _Obviously, since we can’t spend all day hugging, Enj, you’ll hug your wedding away, jeez what would you do without me in your life? Well if we did that, I’d be always known as the husband-stealer to higher society, wait on second thoughts, Enj, come back!_

* * *

He was at the front of the altar and Courfeyrac was gone, somewhere along the back rows, colourful hair bobbing every few seconds to give him a thumbs up. He couldn’t see if anyone else had come, the bride’s side of the family choosing to splurge on the excessive amount of company present in the wedding, the extravagant venue and the tasteless food.

 _Rich people._ Enjolras scorned, with utter disgust.

 _You’re a rich people too, Enj. Know your privilege!_ He remembered that conversation he’d had with Grantaire, so long, long ago. What he’d give to be that sleep-deprived college student with coffee and hundreds of projects to hand in and Grantaire, again.

The organ had begun and the bride had begun to walk in, arm in arm with her turgid father whose suit did nothing to hide the gut belly that he’d developed from downing one too many drinks.  _Scoundrels, all of them, **scoundrels.** Gold-digging, status-seeking  **WALNUTS.**_

He scanned the room, disinterestedly and immediately felt himself lose his breath, heart skipping a beat in his throat. He cared not for the designer wedding dress that his bride wore even though she’d checked it out with his credit card, nor did he think about how the flowers made the blue in her eyes shine because those dull blues? They had  _nothing_ on the morose ones of his ex-lover’s that he was staring into. Grantaire, who had showed up in the old suit from years ago, who still had rainbow-stained paint in his hair, the one who his parents would never ever approve of, who was a part of a large group that they looked down on, Grantaire who gave him a bitter smile as he realised that Enjolras was staring right at him and tipped his head in bitter, bitter congratulations.

In that moment he’d never wanted to do anything more than scream out and run down the aisle to where Grantaire was sat with Jehan and scream his apologies, scream that he didn’t mean to do this, that he didn’t want to do this. But he remained still, years of being born into an upper-class had taught him to keep calm and he grudgingly thanked his grace and manners teacher from all those years ago.

Grantaire broke the connection and looked over to the silhouette of Enjolras’ bride, who had finally reached the altar with her long trail trailing after her. He didn't look back at Enjolras, focusing squarely into the face of his bride, as if committing it to memory. After that, the vows, the ‘I do’s, the exchanging of rings and the cheek-kiss were all a blur, like the haze of an old dream.

_Grantaire’s here?_

* * *

 

  _I hear thy name spoken,_

_And share in its shame._

* * *

 As he walked in the garden alone, he thought to himself that the breath of fresh air was refreshing and had so far calmed his claustrophobia from being trapped at the bride's side and forced to place a charming front in front of the guests when all he'd wanted to do was headbutt them into silence at the putrid words of blatant sexism and homophobia they threw about.

* * *

_"Violence is not the answer, E, even though I'd be the first to be right by your side at kicking their asses!"_ Grantaire had once proclaimed, drunk and jolly, arm around Enjolras' shoulder, leaning quite comfortably against him. He remembered how the scent of paint had permeated strongly off of him, how they'd both been drained from the semester thoroughly kicking their asses and how this had been one of the few times that they were able to enjoy each other's company without worrying about an impending project or art piece or speech to deliver. 

 _"I'm just... so tired of them dismissing my thoughts and ideas without even really considering them. Is it because I'm too young, too opinionated, too rich? Sometimes I feel like there's no point in continuing with my campaign if I'm just constantly being shut down, it doesn't even really feel like anyone believes in me, nevertheless the Cause."_  Enjolras had dejectedly said, muffling his speech in R's shoulder. That had been when he'd continuously been shut down by the campus security to hold public rallies and how some of his supporters had even gotten hurt by the guards. It was a damningly atrocious time, since it had all been peaceful protests until the first baton had been swung and the first batch of tear gas had been unleashed on to both supporters and bystanders. 

 _"That's ridiculous, E!"_ R exclaimed, distraught that he thought like that,  _"Don't think that you being rich has anything to do with this because hello, privilege! But, Enjolras, you're worth so much more than that, your speeches. They **inspire** people, they make us want to do something instead of just sitting on our regular lazy asses and let shitty things happen without so much as a blink, that has to  **count** for something right?" _

 _"You're right..."_ He'd said but with unsureness in his voice, looking downcast, fiddling with his slender fingers. 

 _"You got **me** to believe in you, Apollo." _Grantaire calmly spoke, sobering.  _"I didn't believe in a damn thing before I met you, I was lazy and ill-considerate and a goddamned toxic person all around and fair enough that I did it by myself and for myself but I sure wouldn't have been able to do it without **you** by my side, cheering me on, so don't you dare think that of yourself._" 

By that time, Enjolras had begun tearing up and he'd lunged at Grantaire, grabbing at his shoulders and sniffling into the burrow of Grantaire's neck. He'd felt a hand reach up to his curls and he felt Grantaire shifting to both place them comfortably on their couch at their apartment, a low hum of an unfamiliar song playing through Grantaire's lips. Grantaire was quite a well-known unprofessional singer amongst his friends and found himself singing at any occasion. Enjolras had first-hand heard the deep and timber tenors that Grantaire could sing in, his voice a diamond in the rough.

 _"You feel just like the sun,"_  Grantaire sang into Enjolras' hair,  _"Just like the sun."_

He carded his fingers in Enjolras' tangled curls, " _And if you say... We'll be alright. I'm gonna trust you, babe."_ Grantaire took a few deep breaths, humming the tune, " _I'm gonna look into your beautiful eyes."_  Grantaire paused, feeling the sniffles stop, Enjolras looking at him with watery eyes, weak smile " _And if you say we'll be alright._ "

 _"I'll follow you into the light."_ R leaned down to kiss his boyfriend on the forehead, E closing his eyes as he did so. They remained quiet, content to let the silence speak their unspoken words.

 _"Alright?"_ R spoke with adoration.

 _"Thank you."_ Enjolras wiped the tears threatening to spill, they laid against each other, E's head on R's chest and the low-buzz of the alcohol and the TV in the background.

* * *

Once he saw the puff of smoke float into the air, his warm memory burst like a bubble and he was thrown back into the reality of the present. There was no R this time to reassure him that he was loved and that he was doing the right thing and he felt cold. 

He saw a figure sat by the water fountain, eyes staring hazily at the distant stars and Enjolras almost ran to where Grantaire sat, afraid that he might just be an apparition and disappear if he looked away for more than five seconds.

"Grantaire." Enjolras breathed, slightly breathless, taking in the sight of his ex-lover, inch by inch, trace by trace. Smudged purple eye bags, slight shaking of the hand betraying the calm facade that he wanted to portray.

"Mr Enjolras." Grantaire stood, dropping the smoke and stubbing it out with his leather shoes, callously. "I'd like to say congratulations but you and I both know that I don't  _really_ mean that at all, don't we?" He stated, with ease, water is wet, butter is soft. Enjolras choked on his words. 

"You didn't have to come if you didn't want to be here, you know?" Enjolras couldn't help but blurt out, cursing himself as he said so.

"That's true as well, isn't it?" Grantaire smiled, void of joy, "I just wanted to see you off, personally."

"What do you mean?" Enjolras asked, confusion furrowing his eyebrows.

"To be able to truly let you go, Ponine's told me that I need closure." Grantaire breathed through his nose, monotone reciting a grocery list, "And closure's exactly what I'm getting at this wedding."

"Getting... over me?" Enjolras tried to swallow the lump in his throat, eyes wide.

"Precisely." Grantaire nodded, stoically but not unkindly, "No offense to you but as I've learnt from Ponine, I can't put my life on hold waiting for you to come back to me or pine after you endlessly whilst you move forward."

"I..." Enjolras was stunned to speechlessness, "I see."

"Hah!" Grantaire let out a mirthless laugh, "I can't believe I've finally rendered the great Enjolras speechless, hoorah to me, I should have recorded it for the world to see!"

"I don't appreciate your tone." Enjolras frowned, biting his lip at how quickly Grantaire's emotions were clouded again by apathy in a span of a few seconds.

"Sorry, I'm not here to start a fight." Grantaire tilted his head, quiet. They remained in silence.

"Well I've got to go before Jehan calls a search for me." He nodded his head back at the elegantly-lit hall, began walking and then stopped, hesitantly said with a tentative grin, the first genuine one of that night, "I think she'll be able to keep you happy, from what I've seen of her."

He began walking again, the image oddly reminiscent of what had happened a few months before, Grantaire walking by the light.

Enjolras felt the urge bubbling to say something, anything.

"Grantaire." He burst out and was glad when the steps stopped, the latter looking inquisitively at him.

"You were never very good at lying to me." Enjolras couldn't help but say.

All Grantaire did was look at him in pleasant surprise, a fond smile, saying, "I wasn't good at much when I was without you, dear Apollo." He then turned whilst whistling a familiar tune of the flashback, leaving Enjolras in the dim light of the garden, the flow of water constant, his heart thumping loudly in his ears.

* * *

_They name thee before me,_

_A knell to mine ear;_

* * *

He couldn't help but eavesdrop on Grantaire's conversation with one of his classmates from Art & Theory, staring longingly at the arm wrapped jovially wrapped around the person's shoulder. They were in a concentrated conversation about how Greek arts and culture fitted into Isaac Zangwill's theory, both enthusiastically pointing out how one matched up with the other and how it didn't, occasionally Grantaire would let out a boisterous pun and grin at the other person's fond exaggerated and put-on groan. 

"So, I hear you go to the local social justice club..." The other person brought up.

"You'd have heard that right." Grantaire grinned.

"Isn't it true that you just constantly fight with the leader of the group?" They sounded confused and Enjolras straightened his back, trying to focus back on the laptop screen in front of him and not some  _benign_ conversation about how Grantaire obviously hated him. "Why do you go if you can't stand him?"

"I wouldn't say I can't stand him." Grantaire paused, a few contemplative seconds crossed by where Grantaire was lost in thought. "Enjolras and I go very back and you and I both know that if I truly didn't stand him, I wouldn't spend my time trying to fix his arguments and his ideas. His ideas... They're very idealistic and pure, he's got a vision of the world that I'd lost very long ago and it's just very nostalgic seeing someone truly believe in something without losing any hope."

Enjolras stopped, stock-still and an awed expression entered his expression, he'd never believed that Grantaire was ever capable of saying anything sincere. And then was ashamed at himself at how much he'd shamelessly written off and judged Grantaire's character by his explicit actions, never looking beyond his implicit sub-messages that he hid with every drunken piercing statement.

"Honestly, I feel like starting arguments is the only way that I can even stay any sense of relevant in Enjolras' larger than life world." Grantaire derisively snorted, bordering on deprecating humour. "The leader in red has better things to do than to lower himself to think about vermin like me." Grantaire dramatically sighed, leaning all over the person's petite body.

Enjolras was frozen, the words that Grantaire had said were replaying over and over again inside his head, like a broken replay button.

"Don't talk about yourself like that, R!" The other person frowned, exasperatedly, "You are worth more than what you think or feel or what other people's cruel words have to say about you; I only wished you believed me and not the cruel words of a person who knows nothing about you!"

The leader in red could only burn at the familiarity the person could address R with and how every word that they'd said with conviction hit close to home, if not perfectly at home or how Grantaire hummed with neither agreement nor disagreement. It was jarring.

He shut his laptop and briskly began to pack, unable to stay in the emotionally suffocating scene any more longer, because he knew that he'd end up impulsively going up to Grantaire and that he'd spew more words that he didn't mean to painter and that wasn't fair on him. Enjolras' indecision on how to treat Grantaire like a human being and not as someone irrelevant was all down on him, Enjolras not Grantaire and until he could learn how to do that, he was staying far away from the artist as he could.

* * *

_A shudder comes o'er me --_

_why wert thou so dear?_

(Warning: This short section contains a lot of aggression and both Enjolras and Grantaire say stuff that they don't really mean but it can be a bit triggering. Alcohol Abuse.)

* * *

Enjolras hugged his knees and shivered, thinking back on how Grantaire had stormed out with tears threatening to spill, accusative and blaming. This had been one of their worst fights that they'd ever had in a long,  _long_ while. Enjolras still had to come to terms to what they'd both spat out, with vitrol in their mouths and agonized affection in the mind. He sobbed and wiped his tears, trying to not to choke on his emotions. He lifted his head and caught sight of the green hoodie that he had gifted Grantaire so long ago and reached out for it, tugging it over himself and drowning in Grantaire's warming scent. 

Grantaire had stumbled in two hours ago, full of whiskey and high spirits and a broken track record of 90 days. He'd relapsed again and had been tempted by his drinking buddies and Enjolras had said  _Grantaire, they're a bad influence on you, please stop hanging around them._ Grantaire had looked at him in his drunken stupor as if he'd been slapped and then he'd become instantly hostile, gritted teeth, furrowed eyebrows.

 _N'ne o'yer bisness, Apolllo._ Grantaire had wobbled, blinking at where he thought Enjolras were standing. 

 _But it **is** my business, R, you were doing so well, what happened? _Enjolras asked, worriedly, standing from his seat in the couch, work abandoned.

 ** _DON'T_** _TALK to me like that, stop b'in so condesinding._ R shouted and E moved back and flinched.  _I'm not dum! 'm SORREY cant  hav frenz like yer FRIENZ, but am not yer dam charity case to f'king FIX, leav my frenz ALONE._

 _I didn't mean it like that and you **know** that, R. _Enjolras had insisted, biting his lip. Maybe that hadn't been the right time to start a conversation about Grantaire's friends when he was still inebriated but Enjolras could do nothing but regret, as usual.

 _W't didja meen it like, then? Th't we sh'ld alllll hav rich, **twatty** frienz like you who t'lk shet about you behind yer -_hic _\- back and b'ckstab yer when yer need 'em thuh most?_ R accused, folding his arms. Enjolras looked at him in shock but then he hardened his gaze.

 _Do not talk about Claquesous, Grantaire. You **know** better than to bring him up. _The memory of the betrayal by Claquesous still stung like a gnat bite, four years later and he couldn't help but be sensitive about an age-old event.

 _Why nut? Yer talk shet 'bout my frienz ALL the TIME. When yer frenz 'ren't 'xactly squeaky clean, t'hemselves._ R looked like he was on the verge of tears and E wanted to do nothing more but draw him in an embrace and wipe his tears away but they'd both loaded their word ammunition and it looked like neither were ready to surrender fire under any circumstances.

 _At least my friends have a future and will achieve something in life and not have dead-beat ends like yours._ E had hissed, hurt and raw.

 _D'n't yer DARE br'ng dat up, ya priveleged BRAT._ Grantaire screamed.  _Yer had yer ent're gottamn LIFE handed -_  hic - _to yer, all yer had ta DO was open yer gottamn mouf to ASK and ya would gottamn RECEIVE. Hav ya e'er gone a day, starvin? HAV YA, RICH KID? We had ta fight e'ery step ov the GOTTAMN WAY, d'n't yer DARE judge us when ya don know gottamn SHET._ When Enjolras stalked forward, Grantaire's eyes were the gaze of a trapped deer and Grantaire had reflexively pushed Enjolras back and he had stumbled on his usual graceful feet.

 _Unfortunate circumstances do not mean that one should stop and not retry to get back on their feet, the power is down to them on what they choose to do._ Enjolras reached out again to touch R's shoulder but the latter moved swiftly away from the touch.

 _When ye've ne'er HAD oppertunities or AWARE th't ya hav oppertunities, then when ya gon' do shet ab't et, huh? Or if yer hav no faif in thuh government that m-_ hic -  _makes sure thet poor peopl get p'rer and richer get richer. Thuh fuck aar ye gonna do?_ Grantaire glared at Enjolras with unwavering belief.

 _There's no point in just pitying yourself when you could go out and do something about it, R._ Enjolras firmly stood his ground, frowning.

 ** _FUCK,_** _dere's no p'int in talkin to ya 'bout et when yer have the emoshional cappibility of a fuc' -_ hic -  _fuckin_ GLASS  _dildo. Yer only see thiss from a p'int ov view frum someone whosse ne'er experinced what it means to sacrifice e'erythin._ Grantaire spat, beginning to head for the door.  _And yer wonder when thuh p'blic actelly hesitate ta elect ya, yer just anotha long list of lyin politisions who'll give inta corprate greed eventally and 'tll be tha public who'll b thuh ones fucked right the fuck ov'er 'nd not ya cause ye can get away wif it 'cause yer have the GOTTDAMNED money ta do so._

Grantaire had spat his last few sentences and then readily slammed the door with a final thud, Enjolras could hear the drunken cursings in the distance as he remained still, fearing that if he'd breathed in the wrong direction, he would break down and never be able to stitch himself back up.

* * *

 

_They know not I knew thee,_

_Who knew thee too well--_

_Long, long shall I rue thee,_

_Too deeply to tell._

* * *

The paintings and the sculptures were hung with a presence of humbleness but acknowledgement of the artist's talent and Enjolras was in awe. Each stroke of each paint line were painted as if done deliberately, colours that would have been normally considered too contrasting with each other fit like puzzle pieces under Grantaire's hands. The charcoal of the silhouette of the man with fury in his eyes resonated a deep familiarity within Enjolras' soul. This… It held the same intensity of the charcoal drawing that he’d gotten for their second anniversary but this one felt more refined, more final. It choked his breath.

Grantaire, who he'd not spoken properly to in so many years now, unless it was awkward and terse small talk that both of them quickly wanted to leave behind.

He didn't really even know why he was even surprised anymore. Grantaire had risen from the ashes like a phoenix and had taken flight with his newly-formed wings, eyes set directly forward with no stops.

The years had done Grantaire a whole lot of justice that Enjolras was in slight green envy of, Grantaire who grew and melded with silver linings in his hair and crinkled crow's feet at the edge of his eyes and wrinkled smile lines. Grantaire who had become an established painter and the owner of many NGO charity establishments that helped over a large array of causes which he funded through the money he'd receive through exhibitions and projects. 

It wasn't that people thought that the association with Julian Victor Enjolras and Durant Hugo Grantaire was by any means  _strange_ simply that it was a random and an unlikely one. Majority of people were aware of the recently disbanded Les Amis, the social justice club turned organisation, that they both were a part of and that they'd both played major roles in the start of but what they didn't know? Grantaire had been the Patroclus to his Achilles, his departure had set Enjolras' blood on fire and renewed a new found determination that he could swear the Gods above and below could feel the effects of. Everyone except Grantaire of course.

He'd shown up to the gallery at a respectable time and watched the elites try to encircle Grantaire into their grubby little circle, watched as the artist subtly remove himself from the group and float to another, charming them as well and then repeating the process. Enjolras had found amusement in that, himself being trapped in conversations about his campaigns for the next general election, sipping on the same flute of champagne that had gotten flat over the past hour.

They'd revolved around each other, like planets anchored down by its orbit to the burning bright star. Exchange glances and stares when the other weren't looking, drifting close together but always missing the other by a breadth of an inch. It would be considered funny if it weren't so sad, Enjolras thought.

Whenever he became aware of his natural inclination, he would reposition himself in a position where they weren't close enough to interact or mistakenly glance at each other. Feuilly's concerned stares flashed in his mind as he was reminded of his precaution to be careful and not burn either himself or Grantaire. It wasn't like anything  _was_ going to happen, anyways. As far as the newspapers were aware, Enjolras was the media's golden sweetheart, along with Marie. Both set an example of a power couple with ideal beliefs as they had adopted children running from war and adopted children seeking safety from a broken care system that he would acknowledge when he gained power.

He couldn't jeopardize his image and smear it so badly that it would destroy his children's happiness. Although he may not love Marie and although Marie did not love him, they had come up with an arrangement of mutual respect over the years and he was planning on sticking it out until the end. He didn't really know what the end meant, the end of his life? His career? Campaign? Until he got sick of it? Flashes of Ben's braided hair came into mind, how Aki would clamber on to his lap and hand him her ribbons with childish mirth in her gleaming eyes, how baby Rahul stared at them with curiosity from his blanket and chewed on the ends of his blankets with gummy teeth, wailing whenever they took it to wash.

So yes, as much as it was about projection of his self-image, it was also a matter of protecting his family. And Grantaire. Especially Grantaire. Enjolras knew that he would never be able to completely give himself up to Grantaire and knew that the artist deserved much better than to be hid away like a dirty secret when the artist was worth the high heavens and deserved to be paraded around as someone's lover and not someone's mistress. If it wasn't work, then it would be his children, if it wasn't his children, it would be his wife, then his parents, then the Les Amis, then the general public and the campaigns.

But that didn't mean that it didn't burn his bloodstream every time he watched the stocky ginger, taller than Grantaire by at least five inches, slide a comfortable arm around the artist's waist at every given moment and how Grantaire willingly lent back on to him, unnoticeable tension to the normal eye easing from his shoulders, every time. How each would pick up on the other's sentence with almost planned ease, every kiss planted on the crown of R's head, every fond look shared. He wanted to look away but he was transfixed at their conversation said through eyes.

"Mr Enjolras, what would you have to say on Grantaire's achievements?" A journalist with a notepad and pen had sidled up to him.

"Do forgive me when I ask you to repeat your question, it has been a thrilling week for our campaign." Enjolras charmingly smiled.

"It's no bother!" the blonde blushed at the gleaming smile, "I was simply asking what you thought about the achievements that Grantaire has made."

"I have always known Grantaire to be a wonderful artist with an eye for exquisite detail and creativity, it is no surprise to me that his work is displayed for most of the general public to see." Enjolras politely went on, "Grantaire has been one of the best painters that this generation has seen and I'm proud to call him my friend." He finished with a smile that tasted foul.

* * *

_In secret we met --_

_In silence I grieve,_

* * *

 

Enjolras set the last of their shared belongings in the bin and callously lit a match. Threw it on top of the excessive materials and watched the slow burn and ash of the dust collecting from the left-overs.

Inhaled the smoke.

Looked up at the sky. 

Breathed clearly for the first time that day even as his heart throbbed and screamed.

* * *

_That thy heart could forget,_

_Thy spirit deceive_.

_If I should meet thee_

_After long years,_

* * *

The morning light shone on Enjolras' back and he snuffled into his papers and groggily lifting his head, feeling the weight of concrete in his bones. He blinked once and twice, still chasing the wisps of sleep as he lifted himself out of his chair. He began searching around for his phone, the cool piece of metal and plastic next to the cooled-down cup of coffee. He turned it on and blinked as he began reading the most important messages that he had.

  _Combeferre: I've emailed you your schedule for next week. Also it's smart-dress tomorrow, so wear your blue tie and suit that you bought from Oxford. Rest up, E._ sent at 11:25pm

 _Courfeyrac: omg look at this picture of the this lil kitty cat, omg!!!!_  image_4561 sent. sent at 10:50pm

Enjolras opened the image to find a gif of a kitten running with a soft toy in its mouth, jumping to land on the sofa and missing by an inch, the gif freezing on the kitten's surprised expression at the end. Enjolras grinned softly at that, thanking Courf for the little ray of sunshine that he was. As he walked to his kitchen, his toe collided with the side of his sofa and he let out a set of expletives at the top of his voice. 

"F _uck_." E swore, hopping to relieve his toe of pain. As he hopped around and willed the pain to go away, he saw the box in his peripheral and immediately stopped his ministrations. It was  _that_ box. The box compiled of memories of their relationship and he bit his lip. He thought he had gotten rid of it, months ago. Then he remembered how drunk he had gotten, drained two vodka bottles and conked out, woke up with a killer hangover and had completely forgotten the presence of the box.  _That_ box.

He leaned down and touched it reverently. Opened it and felt his heart get caught up in his throat. Everything was where he had left it.

He touched the framed photograph of them, Grantaire's arm thrown haphazardly around E's shoulder, glitter on their faces, E's hand gripping R's waist, the haze of the night, the happiness that Grantaire had radiate that E couldn't help but reciprocate, their shared gaze and was thrown back to the memory of it. 

* * *

_Grantaire had rushed into the club and headed straight for Enjolras, a loud careless laughter bubbling up from both of them. "Grantaire, Grantaire, what happened?" E had grinned, R's infectious laughter reaching him._

  _"You won't believe it, Enj!" Grantaire spun him around, leaning on his tiptoes as he nuzzled the blond leader's neck. Enjolras reached up to run his fingers through R's hair, wet with sweat._

_"Try me." Enjolras replied, grinning._

_"My contract just finally got accepted and I'm getting paid a stable job with the company that I've been waiting to hear back from for like a week and I can start tomorrow and my pay check will arrive in like two weeks and now we can go splurging on food shopping even though you'll never fail to stop talking about the effects of consumerism and capitalism the entire way through and wow I can't stop talking, I'm just - so- happy!" Grantaire bounced holding his phone up with the emailed evidence._

_"That's great, R! I knew you could do it!" Enjolras clapped his hands, heart bursting at the seams for admiration at the artist. This artist that had been painting houses for a living a couple of years back to make ends meet was the same artist that had now been accepted to make professional artwork for companies and big projects that would actually reflect on what the artist wanted to do in life._

_The crowd surrounding them was thick but in that moment, they only had eyes for each other, never taking them off of each other. When a freshman who held a tub of glitter in his arms was pushed on to the unsuspecting couple by the crowd, all they could do was hold on to each other as the cloud of glitter settled over them, like smoke puffs. Grantaire closed his eyes and giggled and they both knew that they'd be finding the crap for months to come._

_"Hey, E, R!" Courfeyrac called out, taking a quick shot before they could look up and berate him._

_"Thanks for being so cute, y'all." Courfeyrac blew a kiss at them as Enjolras grouched at him._

* * *

He'd gotten the photo framed as a gift from Grantaire on their second year anniversary.

The next was the gifted jar filled to the brim with small pieces of folded drawing paper.

He reached out to open one.

* * *

 

_"Happy second year anniversary, Apollo!" Grantaire grinned up at him, holding out a tacitly gift-wrapped gift that Enjolras raised an eyebrow at._

_"You know that I don't believe in anniversary gifts, Grantaire." Enjolras blinked._

_"Yes, yes, you were talking about capitalism and consumerism and the naivety of the public for buying into such marketing and all that jazz, please just open the gift." Grantaire beamed, clapping his hands in excitement as Enjolras conceded, reluctantly and began deftly opening the some-what heavy gift. "Dear God, what is **in**_   _this?" Enjolras mused._

_"Not God, just Grantaire." Grantaire patted Enjolras' cheek as he finally tore through to the jar._

_Enjolras simply rolled his eyes and reached out for a chit that was deftly folded with Grantaire's fingers. The smoothness of the paper stopped him for a while before he opened it up and was struck mesmerized. There was a charcoal sketch - no, better - drawing of himself framed with wild curls caught in the wind, the sun beaming down on him like a halo whilst he spoke passionately into the speaker at a rally, his eyes were blazing with determined fury and fuelled by the enthusiastic energy of the crowd present._

_"Grantaire, wh-what?" Enjolras looked at his boyfriend through his eyelashes, reaching out to intertwine their fingers together in union._

_"Sometimes, it feels like you forget how important you are, how bright you shine and how the Cause itself would be lost without you." Grantaire shyly cleared his throat, looking down. "How... I would be lost without you." Grantaire's cheeks lit up a bright red, an unusual yet **endearing** colour on the unmovable cynic. _

_Enjolras set the drawing carefully on his desk and palmed Grantaire's chin, lifted it up and gazed into the love of his life's eyes. "I love you, R. Please don't look away from me."_

_"I love you too, you giant cheese ball." R grinned, defusing the sappy situation, "There's more in the jar where that came from." He nodded at his drawing and then the filled jar._

_"Says you." teased Enjolras and then added, “It must've taken forever, R." Enjolras began speaking, kissing Grantaire's cheeks, nose to nose, eye to eye, "I love it."_

_"It's nothing, really, Apollo." Grantaire shrugged, shivering at E's puff of breath on his face, "I just want you to remember everything good and positive that you've achieved, everything good and positive that you **are** and that no matter what happens, to us or the Cause, you will always be enough." _

_Enjolras was everything to Grantaire, he ignited life and passion that had drifted away from all those years of being a disappointed idealist. He breathed a new day in and out of Grantaire's lungs, each rally, each protest, each riot that broke out, Apollo was the one who led him higher and higher. But that high was to be popped like a fever that inevitably breaks. He was the Sun and Grantaire became blinded by staring too deeply into the rays that progressed to their downfall. Truly the Icarus to his beloved Sun, wax melting as he grew closer to the flames of the Sun, screams as he fell, far, far away._

 

* * *

 

Enjolras felt tears drop from his eyes and he sniffled heavily, slumping on the floor and tucking his knees to his chest. He'd opened each drawing a million times, caressing each stroke that Grantaire inflicted on to the paper with artistic ease. He could smell the stale smell of paint wafting from the drawings and really he couldn't care less if he had solvent overdose from the paint at that current moment.

There were other beloved shared belongings that Enjolras simply could not lift his head and examine. He knew that it would break down his weak resolve and he couldn't  _do_ that. He had to think of the advancement of both the Les Amis and of his own social and political position in the government. He had to be the one to make the changes, the people listened to  _him_ and Enjolras knew he could do it. 

He wiped away his tears and lifted his head, despite heavy spirits that threatened to anchor him back down to the depths of emotional hell. 

He knew what he had to do. He had to cut all form of ties that he had with the painter and he had to get Combeferre to arrange another meeting with Maria to go forward with news of their engagement and to break it in public. It was a good match. Maria was idealistic just like him and was married to one of the more important cabinet MP's. This was right. What he was doing was right. He tipped over the jar of the drawings and began placing each drawing back to the box but stopped when he reached the one that he'd first opened so many years ago. He hesitated at putting it in and simply placed it beside him, letting out a heavy breath, slumped shoulders.

The glass of the jar could be recyclable but he wasn't about to throw it in the same pile as all the papers and all the memories to burn. 

* * *

 

_How should I greet thee?--_

_With silence and tears._

* * *

 

Enjolras was old, he couldn't even deny it anymore. His children (who'd grown up passionate, beautiful, knowing) would often tease him about his hair that had begun dying itself a shade of white that sat like a crown of snowflakes on his head and he felt fit enough to have lived two and a half-life times in one. He had announced his retirement to the media three days ago hopefully handing his position down to a fresh-faced and young Marius Pontmercy and he couldn't help but feel hopelessly light. Floating like a dandelion with the burden of the world finally off of his shoulders. 

It wasn't that he wanted to stop saving the world; that was an urge that would always be important to him until he breathed his final breath in this plane of existence but it was releasing to know that the responsibility fell down on his shoulder alone was finally being lifted. (The Labour campaign had been gaining majority from the Conservatives for most of his political existence and once Enjolras had become leader of the former party, he'd gotten rid of the Blairites left, right, centre, leaving only the members working by the people, for the people. A feat that Enjolras quietly patted himself on the back for. ) 

He'd been named the 'Golden Boy' by the media and the public, reminiscent to the fact that he was obscenely younger than the other party candidates present and he'd gotten the most public support of all time. He wasn't the youngest any more but the nickname stuck like the Iron Lady or Tony Bl-eaugh. 

In all this time, he'd never seen hide nor hair of Grantaire, as to be expected of their wildly different social hemispheres but Enjolras couldn't help but hope that wherever his ex-lover was, he was warm, loved and safe. As he trudged by the Park (where it had all ended) he couldn't help but muse to himself that although the pain no longer stung like fresh wounds or like a hole in the head, there was always a low buzzing of what could have been, the life he could have chosen for himself, that he would have been truly happy in. 

But Enjolras was never one to be stuck in what-if's and hypotheticals that would never ever happen and would often think back to his own life on how, although, hadn't resulted in utter happiness for his unprospective love-life had landed him his beloved three children that brought such joy to his life and a career that would make an impact for the common people like he wanted it to, all along. 

He was too busy at looking at the sky that he never noticed himself bumping into a slightly shorter man with the scent of paint wafting off of him. Enjolras dropped his eyes and looked into the vibrantly familiar eyes of the someone that he hadn't seen in so long. 

“Grantaire?” “Enjolras?” They said in unison, blinking at each other surprised. Grantaire looked well-aged, his curls still streaked with paint but had begun growing gray at the edges. He had laugh lines scrawled on the dip of his cheekbones, edge of his eyes and mouth. His hand was holding a bag which Enjolras had a strong feeling was art materials.

“It’s good to see you!” Grantaire grinned, tilting his head to the side.

“I can certainly say the same for you.” Enjolras calmly replied, “Time has done you very well.” He nodded in acknowledgement to the artist’s appearance.

“Well, shucks, you still know how to make my heart melt. I could say the same thing to you, snowflakes.” Grantaire snorted, shifting the blue bag on to his other hand. “I heard you retired, congratulations on the death countdown.”

“Thanks.” Enjolras dryly replied, feeling strangely comfortable with talking so openly with the ex that he’d dreaded to talk to for so long.

“I hope your family are well.” Grantaire looked as if he was about to leave with the final well-wish but Enjolras couldn’t help but add a final comment.

“I want to say thank you, Grantaire.” Enjolras blurted out and cursed himself from the inside.

“What for?” Grantaire turned around and raised his eyebrow and snuggled into his knitted green and purple scarf.

“For all those years ago.” He bit his lip. “For letting me go, for understanding.”

Grantaire’s expression softened and then he replied, “I have to say Enjolras, it… really wasn’t for you.” He continued, “It was for me. I realised after you broke up with me how much I relied on you and how you breaking up with me broke me in a lot of pieces that I had trouble gluing back together.” Enjolras maintained eye contact with Grantaire, it was the least he could do for the heartbreak that he’d caused.

“I had heavy relapses that lasted for a long few years that were really, really bad, it scared the life of Éponine bad. I believe that since then I’ve long-left that area of grimness and I think it really should be me thanking you for giving me the kick I needed to find independence that I needed.” Grantaire took a deep breath, before continuing again, “It was all because of you that I find out what I wanted and didn’t want, and just like that, I found Nicholas who understands me inside and out; he’s the someone who I can spend the rest of my days happily with.”

“It’s really all thanks to you.” Grantaire conceded, a light blush on his cheeks.

“I’m glad that I could of be such help.” Enjolras sincerely stated, with only a scent of bitterness in the words. “But… do you ever wonder- “

“I didn’t know you’ve began to believe in what-if’s, Enjolras!” Grantaire interrupted, wryly.

“I don’t. But, do you ever wonder what we could have been?” Enjolras felt compelled to ask that question, he wasn’t sure if it was the feeling of nostalgia that the younger part of Enjolras felt or actual want to be with Grantaire again that was speaking through.

“At the beginning, yes. In the middle, sometimes. And now? I’m too old to play around with what-if’s, Enjie, I think you are too.” He paused, “We’ve both made lives for ourselves that we didn’t exactly plan, well okay, one that _I_ didn’t plan but looking back from here and now, it doesn’t look like we fucked it up too bad, have we?”

To that Enjolras had to whole-heartedly agree. Grantaire smirked at him and Enjolras felt déjà vu to a time long, long ago. Grantaire stated, “I’ve got to go soon, Enj, I’m painting my grand-daughter’s room and I need to get there before my kids begin prank-calling me about getting lost in my old age. But you should definitely keep in touch, yeah, I’ll see you at the next Les Amis get-together?”

“Of course.” Enjolras bobbed his head, serenely.

“Take care, E.” Grantaire grinned, white pearlies showing, as he turned around and began strolling off into the opposite side of Enjolras’ direction, arms swinging, whistle flowing from his lips.

“You too, R.” Enjolras called out, a smile on his face as his good mood returned to a heightened level and he began walking back to his house, barely feeling the cold caressing his skin as he walked off, a new spring to his step. He didn’t look back, this time.

* * *

 

_‘You will love again the stranger who was your self_  
_Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart_  
_to itself, to the stranger who has loved you_  
_all your life, whom you ignored…’_

_-_ Love After Love by Derek Walcott 

**Author's Note:**

> Asphodels say 'My regrets follow you to the grave' and Marigolds say 'Pain and grief'. 
> 
> I've always loved the intrinsic somberness and coldness that this poem holds, and I just really wanted it to fit Enjoltaire because I need that sadness in my life. Also; i really really really hate it when authors write stories where E fucks R up but then R forgives him because he 'loves' him. Like no, I wanted to write a stronger Grantaire that, although deeply loves and cares about Enjolras, knows that he needs to heal and function without E. I love reading traditional happy endings but I also love endings where the characters gain their own footing in life w/o the other person.
> 
> ive mostly rushed this because i lost motivation halfway through so. um, maybe thats why the tone sort of changes halfway throughout? I'll come back to this one day and rip myself a new one and a new revamped version of this probably, idk.


End file.
